Blaze of Glory
by Emeraleyes
Summary: She said them in desperation, a last effort to make him see reason. But can a few simple words change a life? Can they save a life? A story that follows the impact that a few simple words can have.
1. The Nights the Words Were Spoken

**Standard fanfic disclaimer applies.  Recognize it, it probably isn't mine.**

I wrote this out when I should have been working on the Visible Invisible, but the damn plot wouldn't just leave me alone.  I plan to continue working on it, though updating will be sporadic until my other story is done.  It's also going to be more character development than plot, so it may not be your thing if you don't like that kind of thing.  But please read anyway! Haha!

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Chapter 1: The Night the Words Were Spoken 

It was a night that would have an impact on the rest of his life.

            "If you don't get your bloody hands off of me right now, you're going to live to regret it!" the kicking figure wrapped up in a blanket was screaming.  He casually leaned against the cold stonewall of the dungeon, carefully glancing with cool gray eyes the two brainless minions that had carried in the struggling victim, who were now straining to hold onto the thrashing girl.

             "Now boys, is that any way to treat a lady?" his voice drawled out, casting a shroud of silence over the cold room.  The witless underlings glanced at each other, then back at him, both wearing identical dumbstruck looks.  "That means that you should 'get your bloody hands' off of her."

            "Are…are you sure about that, Malfoy?  She sure has been a hellion to capture.  If these orders didn't come directly from your father, we probably wouldn't have even bothered after the first try!" the taller one said, his eyes showing a slight glimmer of intelligence.  With a frustrated sigh, Draco Malfoy waved his hand impatiently, silencing the man and causing him to jump back, dropping his half of the thrashing bundle in the process.  The other one quickly followed suit.  Draco smirked, pleased at his display of power over the two mindless buffoons that served his family.  They respected his authority; they respected his power.

            A fleeting, wishful thought passed through his brain: he wished his father could see that.  Maybe then he'd be able to see – that Draco was no longer a "boy".  His command, his power and the respect that he got from all those below him proved that he was a man now, one worthy of more responsibility and power.  His thoughts were interrupted as the heavy door creaked open.

            "Excellent, Draco, I see that our…guest has arrived.  The Dark Lord will be pleased," his father voice, full of authority, echoed off the stonewalls.  The younger Malfoy turned to his father, and nodded.

            "I can't imagine what he wants with a Muggle-born witch, Father, but they brought her as ordered," Draco said, his mind swiftly running through the possible necessities that a Mudblood could fulfill.

            The girl, suddenly kicking out of the rolls of blankets that had been restricting her movement since her capture, was revealed.  A small thin redhead with blazing eyes that looked about ready to unleash hell on the group of men holding her captive jumped up.  She gasped loudly as her eyes met those of the two Malfoys staring back at her, and one icy glare from the elder one seemed to quell any movements of resistance she had been planning.  Seizing the rare moment of her docility, the two minions grabbed her arms; restraining her in anticipation of the physical attacks she'd dealt them earlier, not wanting to make the same mistake twice.

            "Ginny Weasley?" Draco asked his father, shocked.  His father smiled coolly, and nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face.

            Draco's eyes flickered momentarily to hers, and he felt a strange twinge deep inside him.  It was a sensation he'd never felt before – possibly guilt?  He held no real grudge against the little redheaded Gryffindor.  Her brothers, he hated about as much as was possible.  But it had only been a week before, after the last Quidditch match before the Christmas holidays, that she'd inadvertently bumped into him, and had complimented him on his flying.

            "But she's a pureblood!" Draco protested in a whisper.  This was supposed to have been a Muggle-born witch!  His father merely laughed at his protestation.

            "She's a Weasley, my boy.  They hardly count as purebloods, with all their Muggle-loving actions!" he father chortled gleefully, as he observed the girl's eyes narrowing at his words, and begin to struggle against the men holding her back.

            "At least my family isn't full of evil, murdering wizards!" she shouted back, which caused his father to laugh even harder.

            "This isn't right, Father," Draco whispered carefully.  His father's laughing stopped dead at those words, and the stone cold gray eyes glared at him.

            "Do you question the orders of the Dark Lord, Draco?" he asked, dangerously.

            "No, of course not," Draco answered quickly.  Lucius' eyes stared intently into those of his son's.  A loaded silence filled the room.

            "Excellent.  Draco, you shall stay with the girl while I summon the Dark Lord.  If she tries to escape, kill her," Lucius ordered, before sweeping out of the room.

* * * * *

            It was a new form of agony that he had never knew even existed.  Soon after his father's departure, she, in a last-ditch attempt at freeing herself, had tried to wrestle free of her captors.  In punishment, the two minions has forced her down to the ground, where she was now held, kneeling.  Every few moments, just as their grip on her shoulders would relax, she'd try to jump up, forcing them to pull her back down.

            She stared at him, with silently accusing eyes.  She hadn't spoken since that first desperate threat, but she didn't need to.  He could tell exactly what she wanted to say just by the look in her eyes.  He kept looking away, hoping that she would stop staring at him, but she never did.  She was waiting for him to break.

            "Why would they want you?" he asked suddenly, shattering the silence.  The two underlings started at the sudden noise, and she lifted her head, a slightly smug look on her face.  She had won – he had been the first to speak.

            "Are you as daft as you look, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice remarkably collected and calm, as if being held hostage was an every day occurrence.  "Harry Potter, of course.  Your bunch of buffoons seem to think that if you have me, you hold some sort of power over Harry.  I thought that I great big Slytherin like yourself would have been able to figure out that much."

            Her words, and her unforgiving but still smug tone, snapped his control and sparked his anger.  He had been feeling guilty that she had been brought here; guilty about what he knew was most likely going to be her fate.  And she had the nerve to look him in the eye, insult him and smile with that look of smug satisfaction on her face!

            He walked calmly up to where she was being held, her knees forcefully pressed down in the dirty stone flooring.  He stared down at her with his cold gray eyes for a moment, contemplating what it was that he wanted to say to her.  He knelt down, bringing himself eye to eye with the fiery little hellion who had recently complimented his flying abilities, and stared straight at her.  He wouldn't break this time.

            Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, seeing the challenge and more than welcoming it.  Her tawny brown eyes, slightly red-rimmed, stared unwaveringly back at him, with a mocking glint that infuriated him.  The tension grew with each minute that passed with neither of them blinking or looking away.  Until she spoke.

            "Anyone can tell right from wrong.  It takes a man to act on that knowledge," she said, so quietly that the two oblivious men holding her down didn't hear.  Draco blinked in surprised at her words, startled.  His eyes full of questions, he looked into those eyes again, and that flicker of guilt was re-ignited by the small glimpse of pride and courage he could see within them.

            The heavy door creaked as it opened, startling Draco, causing him to jump to his feet and back away from the girl.

            "Ahh, I see the Weasley is still alive.  You have better restraint than I give you credit for," Lucius Malfoy's cool, icy voice spoke.  Draco nodded stiffly; acknowledging the sort-of-compliment.  "Well Miss Weasley, it looks like your time to show your worth is finally at hand!"

            Her head snapped up at his words, and she writhed away from the heavy hands that pulled her to her feet.  With one last accusing look at Draco Malfoy, she was led from the room, holding her head high.  But before she could be forced over the threshold of the door, she turned those brown eyes back on Draco and spoke once more.

            "I guess I was wrong about you."

And with those simple words, his entire life changed.

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	2. Stalked by Fear

Couldn't stop writing, so here is the next installment.  Just don't tell anyone who reads The Visible Invisible that I updated this story, and not that one.  (For those of you that do read my other story, update coming soon, I'm having a little issue I'm not sure how to deal with). 

The POVs switch a bit throughout this story.  If confused, let me know and I'll do my best to clarify.

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**Chapter 2: Stalked by Fear** ******************************************************************************** Eight years later… 

She wearily wiped a stray hair out of her eyes, and sighed.  It had been a long, brutal night.  She finished filling in the required information on her patient's chart, and left the room, more than ready to get home to her bed so she could forget the entire, horrible night.

            "Jenny, you're not looking so good, hun," the elderly nurse, Carla, said in passing.  She smiled in passing.

            "It's been a long night, and I am more than happy to be finished here!" she answered, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice.  The nurse laughed; the night staff loved it when the young woman worked with them.  Her bubbly energy, even after the worst of nights, was always refreshing.

            "Well, you make sure you get enough sleep, young lady, or I'll have to make sure Dr. Denis takes you off the rotation," her supervising doctor announced, coming upon the two women.

            "Ooh, is that a threat or a promise?" she asked, with a mischievous grin.  He just laughed, walking away.

            "Oh, before you leave, honey, this was dropped off for you.  I would have given it to you sooner, but you were working on that car accident victim, and then I just plain forgot about it.  It looks pretty official, Jenny. I hope everything is all right," Carla said, handing her an envelope made of heavy paper.  She felt her heart stop as she took it from the elderly nurse.

            "Thank you.  I'm sure it's nothing.  My husband has this strange affection for writing me letters when he's away, that's all.  He's a bit of an old-fashioned romantic," she explained, forcing a cheerful smile on her face.  She stared down at the envelope, fingering the carefully written address on it.  She looked back up to Carla's kind eyes and smiled.

            "I'll see you all in a few days!" she chirped, waving to the other nurses huddled in the nurse's station, passing down the hall, until she reached the staff room.  Flinging open her locked, she grabbed her bag and stuffed her street clothes inside, so eager to get home that she didn't even think to change out of her scrubs.  She sat down on the bench, laying the envelope carefully down beside her, and began to untie her shoelaces.  She paused after a moment, and knew that she couldn't wait any longer.

            _Two months and nothing.  No contact from anyone in the wizarding world, no contact from him.  Nothing,_ she thought angrily, glaring at the envelope, as if to hold it accountable for the situation she was in.  She glanced at the name written on the front, and had to smile over Carla's nearsightedness.  It plainly said _Ginny Potter_, not Jenny Peters, the pseudonym she had been using for over four months.  It was the one clue that she had that it might actually be from him.

            Unable to wait any longer, she seized the envelope and tore it open.  Unfolding the thick parchment paper, her eyes scanned the words, and she gasped.

* * * * *

            Monica Calhoun, the pediatric specialist on the emergency ward, trotted into the staff room, eager to change into her scrubs before any of the nurses noticed that she was late.  They loved to tease the pretty young doctor as much as possible, and the more fuel they had, the better.  She stopped abruptly when she saw Jenny Peters sitting on the bench, her head in her hands, holding a crumpled piece of paper in her hands.  Immediately concerned as she observed the state of her friend, she quietly sat down beside her, and touched her shoulder.

            Jenny looked up at her, her eyes bright, with a devastated look.  Monica just sighed, and put an arm around her shoulder.

            "I take it you finally heard something about your husband," she said softly.  She heard her friend sigh, full of weariness.

            "He's missing, and presumed dead," Jenny said, her voice wavering slightly.

            "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Monica said, feeling awkward and stiff, unsure of what to say.  Jenny looked at her intently.

            "Don't be.  He's not dead," she said, her voice full of conviction, shaking her head adamantly back and forth.  "I would know if he was.  He's still out there, they just need to find him!"

            "Jenny, I know that's what you want to think, but…this won't help you deal with it," Monica said, uncertainly.  Jenny just jumped up, throwing the piece of paper to the ground, and began to pace.

            "I would feel it if he weren't alive, Monica!  I would know!  He'll come home, I know it!" Jenny said, biting her lip, twisting the ring on her left hand nervously.

            "Okay," Monica said.  Jenny stopped and gave the other woman a strange look.

            "What?"

            "If you say he's coming home soon, I believe you.  But Jenny, I really think it's time to start thinking of maybe contacting your family.  You told me a few weeks ago that you've been out of touch with them for six months or so.  With the baby and all, and now this news coming, I think you're going to need someone to be with you until he's home safe again," Monica said.  Jenny stopped, looking at her, startled.

            "What baby?" she asked, slowly, looking away from her friend's eyes.

            "How long did you think you could hide it, seriously Jen?  In a hospital?  We've got a bit of a pool going on to see when you're actually going to announce it.  You've been showing for a little while now," Monica said to Jenny's surprise.  She sat down, stunned on the bench, staring straight ahead.

            "I thought the father might want to be the first one to know," she whispered, her lip trembling slightly, as her hands moved down to rest on the very slight swell of her abdomen.  "Oh Monica, what am I going to do?"

            "Call your family.  You need them."

            "I want to, more than anything.  You have no idea how much.  But I can't.  It's really complicated and I can't really explain it, but that's just not an option…But I do wish they were here.  My mum, and my brothers…I can just think of what they'd say, and how they'd make me laugh and forget all about this horrible fear that I may never see my husband again…"

            "It's going to be okay, Jen.  You know it, remember?  Don't give up on that, and you'll be fine," Monica said, decidedly cheerful, as she avoided the heartbreaking look in her friend's eyes. 

* * * * *

            He watched the young woman dressed in a Muggle hospital outfit with a book bag slung over one shoulder, make her way through the village, waving a hand casually to those who greeted her.  This older part of town, known affectionately as the 'village' to the locals, had many small shops that would bring their products outside, set out on tables to display to the wandering citizens.  He watched as she paused outside the bakery, speaking momentarily with the elderly couple loitering outside the door before walking in.

            He emerged from the shadowy corner he was hiding in, and surveyed his surroundings.  The sun was starting to set, and most of the shops were beginning to close their doors.  The pedestrians, casually walking down the sidewalks, didn't pay any attention to him as he moved down the street, limping painfully, until he reached the alley beside the bakery, where he stood, waiting for her to emerge.

            The few moments rest allowed him to survey his condition.  His right leg, horribly wounded and bleeding openly, was a cause for concern.  It was shaking with the effort of holding his weight, and he knew that it wouldn't be much longer before he would collapse, succumbing to the pain and blood loss.  _But he had to get to her before that happened._

            His vision blurred slightly as a wave of exhaustion threatened to overcome him.  He heard the tinkling of a bell, the type that small family-owned shops tended to hang at their front door to alert them when customers came in.  He blinked, his eyes focusing again as he saw the bright haired woman trot down the sidewalk, making her way once again down the street.  He watched her as she paused at a small fruit stand, smiling and laughing with the owner, before picking over a pile of apples.  Picking out one, she paid the man, and placed the piece of fruit in her bag.

            The sky was growing darker – not only from the setting sun.  Storm clouds had suddenly rolled in, casting an ominous shadow over the peaceful village.  He shivered slightly as a cold wind swept past him.  She was talking with the man now, chatting animatedly, her hands motioning as if to illustrate her point better.  Seeing an opportunity, he knelt down, sighing in relief as the weight on his injured leg was eased.  He checked his wound, and grabbing his wand, he muttered a simple spell, hoping that it would be enough to stem the blood.

            He looked up as he felt a drop of rain on his head.  As his focus had shifted to his aching leg, he noticed that during his moments of distraction, the sky had become utterly pitch black; the storm clouds completely blocking out any of the fading light from the setting sun.  Within moments, the slight drops of raining exploded, with an ominous crack of thunder, into a heavy downpour.

            Standing up with a groan, as his injured leg throbbing with pain, he quickly scanned the street in front of him, searching for her.  He saw her, staring up at the pouring sky with a look of disdain on her face, before she crossed the street, and disappeared in the alley between two large buildings.

            With a horrible feeling of panic growing in his stomach, he bit back the throbbing pain wracking his body, and began to limp forward, sensing that this threshold: if he was going to make his move, he'd better do it now lest he arrive too late.

* * * * *

            As she trudged through the streets, which had instantly turned into mud with the beginning of the torrential downpour, she cursed herself for not accepting the ride that Monica had offered her.  It had been almost a week since that fateful letter had arrived, and ever since, she'd been almost coddled by all of her colleagues.  Monica had spread the word about the news that she had received, and all of the elderly nurses had been hovering around her incessantly.  She appreciated the effort, but right now, sympathy was the very last thing she wanted.

            The only thing she wanted, more than anything else, was a reason to hope.

            But, as her co-workers were unable to deliver that, she was forced to endure their attempts at comforting her, and because of that, she was beginning to feel smothered by them.  For the first time in the months she'd started working at the Muggle hospital, when she woke up, she dreaded the thought of going into work.  But it did keep her busy, and for that she was thankful.  But she still felt smothered, and that was why she'd refused Monica's offer – a decision she was now sorely regretting.

            It had been a long, tedious day.  In a smaller town such as this one, most days were easy going, with very rare real accidents taking up her time.  It was the night shift that saw all of the excitement – that was when this smaller town seemed to come alive.  She sighed as thought back on some of her nightshifts – multiple car accidents.  She wondered about Muggles and their ingenuity; they could find so many ways to cope with living without magic, but sometimes those alternatives were so dangerous…

            As she pondered the lifestyles of Muggles, she was torn out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps squishing in the mud.  She quickened her pace, feeling uncomfortable now that she was outside, alone while it was dark and stormy, and there was an unknown person walking behind her.  Most of the people in the village knew her by name, and she knew that if it had been someone who recognized her, they would have called out to her to ask her how she was enjoying the "lovely weather", a common question among the locals during the frequent storms.

            After a few paces, her heart began to beat faster as she noted that those footsteps were becoming faster as her own pace quickened.  Her eyes scanned the narrow alley, counting the moments before she would be out of it, and closer to the safety of her home, out of the rain.  Her thoughts turned to her wand, tucked safely (and unreachably) in the sock of her right foot.  She would have to stop to fish it out; something she was unwilling to do.  She desperately wanted to turn around and see who the person that was following behind her, but her desperate fear wouldn't allow it, and her common sense told her that it was unwise to do so.

            She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the footsteps stop.  She carried on, noting with pleasure that she was only a few feet from the end of the alleyway.  A dozen more steps and she'd be safely on her own street.  She began to walk faster, eager to get out of the dark and gloomy alleyway, realizing how unwise she'd been to take the short cut.

            And then she heard it.  The sound of footsteps behind her began again, only this time they weren't just walking; _they were running_.  She dropped her bag and began to run herself, her heart beginning to beat rapidly, and a surge of adrenaline coursing through her body, fueling her anxiety.  The footsteps drew closer to her, and she heard a raspy voice call out to her.

            "Watch out!"

            She paused for a split second, turning to face the stalker.  She saw a glimpse of a tall figure, dressed in black, running towards her with a strange gait, reaching towards her.  Her observation of her would-be attacker was interrupted as she saw a bright flash pass before her eyes.  He leapt forward, pushing her to the ground, shielding her body with his.  She screamed as the wall where she'd just been standing exploded in a shower of light and shattered brick.

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*whispers in shame*  For those of you who might not be aware, this **WILL NOT** be a D/G romance story.  Yes, Ginny is married to Harry Potter in this story, and is living in the Muggle world under a pseudonym, cut off from the wizarding world, her family, and most importantly, her husband.  Explanations to be delivered in later chapters.


	3. Five to One Odds

Just a reminder – work on this story will be sporadic, because The Visible Invisible is my main priority at the moment.

Also, for anyone who is confused, the first chapter is kind of like a prologue, and the rest of the story takes place eight years after that.

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Chapter 3: Five to One Odds 

She heard the crashing of bricks slamming into the pavement all around her, and the heavy weight of a body on top of hers – shielding her.  She felt the water from the rain-soaked ground seep in through her clothing; shocking and cold.  Within an instant, as soon as the debris settled, he moved off of her, pulling her upper body with him.

            "Are you okay?" he asked quickly. In shock, she just stared back at him for a split second, before her quick instincts – born from months working in the Muggle ER – kicked into high gear, and she nodded, and gathered herself up, ready to stand.  Another blast hit the wall on the other side of the alley, and he pulled her down, crouching behind a large dumpster as another shower of brick rained down.

            "Do you have a wand?" he asked, looking at her with solemn gray eyes.  She nodded, and reached down to her sock to retrieve it from her hiding place.

            "Good.  Stay here, and don't use it unless you absolutely have to. It will just bring more of them," he said, before he stood up, and ran; quickly dodging successive flashes of spells thrown at him, dashing out of the alley and into the street.

* * * *

            He cursed under his breath as he spotted them.  There were five of them.  Five to one – with him injured – were not the kind of odds that he would normally gamble.  As he blocked a rather nasty curse thrown straight at him, he took the opportunity to survey the street.  Luckily, due to the rain, it was empty.  As he aimed a disarming spell at one wizard, he noted grimly that they were starting to surround him.  As they closed in around him, he backed slightly into the alleyway.

            "Put down your wand, and we'll let you walk away.  We're here for the girl," the one in the middle said, his face hidden, like all of them, with his black hood.

            "Sorry boys, I'm afraid that's not going to happen.  But I will cut you a deal – if you leave now and forget all you've seen, I'll let you live," he answered, his voice full of confidence and arrogance that he did not feel at the moment.  A part of him wanted to laugh as he saw the dubious looks of outrage exchanged between his five opponents.

            It was exactly the distraction that he needed.  As they moved closer together, he threw the biggest curse he could muster at them, and blasted the road they were standing on.  He was thrown back by the impact, his head cracking painfully on the pavement.  A thick layer of dust had permeated the air, making it difficult to breath, difficult to see.  Rain was cascading down his forehead, mingling with the dust, creating a blinding sting when he tried to open them.  Groaning loudly against the pain that was raging through his body – the stabbing pain of his open leg wound, the deep throb in his head every time he moved his head, the gasping tear in his chest every time he drew a breath – he forced himself to stand.

            As the dust settled, he saw with a sort of detached pride the damage that he had done.  There was a rather large, gapping hole in the pavement, and the debris was scattered everywhere.  Blinking furiously to clear his vision, he scanned the area, searching for his opponents.  Four of them were down, he noted with a grim satisfaction, leaving only one left for him to battle.  The leader of the group – the strongest of them all, one who he had trained with throughout most of his life.  Someone who knew his moves and techniques better than anyone, because they were his moves, his techniques as well.  They had been friends, once, before everything had changed.

            He watched as his hooded enemy jerked into consciousness, rising to his feet, searching the rain-slicked ground for his wand.  He bit back a smile as he spotted it before his opponent did, lying broken in a muddy puddle a few feet away from him.

            "I'll give you one last chance to walk away from this, and only because we're old friends," he seethed angrily from underneath his dripping hood.

            "Interesting, coming from someone who has lost his followers and his wand all in one shot.  What threat are you to me now?" he asked in return.  Through the haze of burning pain, his reactions were somewhat lessened, and too late he realized what his opponent was doing.  He was taking a running jump over the gapping hole in the street, his hand outstretched, wielding a dagger.

* * * *

            She watched, horror-stricken, as the two strangers in front of her began to struggle, the dagger flashing in the dim light.  They were both dressed in dark hoods, and she was unable to identify either of them.  She watched, immobile – afraid to breath less she draw more attention to herself – as they fell to the ground, wrestling viciously over the weapon.  The one who had saved her from the blast was pinned underneath the other, the dagger poised perilously at his throat.  She felt a surge of panic overwhelm her, as she watched him grasp the other man's hand, pushing his hand away from his neck.

            She glanced down the alley way, see that the way was clear and that she would be able to flee while the two men battled.  As she prepared to stand and run, she paused, seeing the man who had saved her life beginning to weaken his tenuous hold against the dagger.  Before reason could enter her mind and dissuade her, she tucked her wand back into it's hiding place in her sock, and jumped up, spotting a wooden crate lying near the dumpster where she was hiding.

            Picking it up, and running at the dueling pair, she hoisted it up and brought it down with all her might on the head of the man with the dagger.  The wood splintered with a sickening thud, and she backed away as the man underneath sprung forward, pushing the other man off of him as the blow to his head stunned him.  Her rescuer jumped to his feet and aimed a well-placed kick, sending the dagger flying through the air.  The attacker howled in pain before he started to crawl towards the spot where it had landed.

            Her rescuer didn't hesitate, and kicked the fallen man viciously and repeatedly; his abdomen, his face and head.  He was screaming in pain, but he still kept moving towards the dagger, seeking the potential salvation it would have.  The man who'd saved her was calling out to him, pleading with him.  With a strange amount of detachment, she backed away from the horrific scene, standing against the wall and wondered why he was pleading with him.

            "Stop moving!  Damn it, just stop!" he was yelling, as he landed another blow.  He reached down and pulled the sputtering man into a headlock.  The attacker coughed; spewing blood to the street, which mingled with the rain and mud.  "Your last chance, old friend.  Your escape and her safety, or your death."

            "My safety is not worth betraying my lord," the attacker said between gasping breaths, and he was consumed by an attack of hacking coughs, which just produced more blood.  Her rescuer paused, a stricken look on his face before he closed his eyes and wrenched the man's head while holding his neck in place.

            Ginny shrieked in horror as the sickening snap of the sound of the man's neck breaking filled the air, and the body dropped lifelessly to the ground.  She pressed her hands to her mouth, horrified and afraid she would vomit from the sight.  The man who'd saved her had turned towards her, his face slick with rainwater and blood, and she was still unable to identify him.

            "You need to get off the streets before more of them appear," he said gruffly, taking a shaky step towards her.  She reached down and whipped out her wand, and pointed at him, her trembling lower lip revealing her terror.

            "Who are you and what the hell is going on?" she demanded, forcing her eyes to stay away from the dead body.  She saw death often enough in her profession, but she'd never seen the murder of someone firsthand in such a manner before.

            "There is no time to explain," he muttered, as he stepped forward again, reaching to grab her arm.  She swiftly dodged his reach, jabbing her wand forward threateningly.

            "How do you know who I am and where you could find me?  How did you know that they were going to attack?  What is happening?" she said, damning her weakness as her voice trembled.

            "I'm here to help you find your husband before they find you," he said.  Ginny gasped, staring at him in confusion, unable to quell the flash of hope that consumed her.  She was about to ask another question, when with a groan of pain, the man who'd rescued her collapsed to the ground.


	4. Thinking for Two

After months of delay, here is the fourth installment of my non-romance D/G fic. For all of you who would like to find ways to make this a romance, I'm sorry, it's just not going to happen, but give me a chance, and you just might like the story despite that one fatal flaw!

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**Chapter 4: Thinking for Two**

She stood in the drenching downpour, trying to absorb exactly what was happening in her world. The body of her rescuer was lying, splayed out, in a puddle. The rain was washing some of the blood from his face, and she could see ribbons of the rusty-crimson color spreading out across the ground in the rivers the crack in the pavement created. The water was stinging her eyes, and she could scarcely breath. Her shaking hands, stretched out and holding her wand, seemed to be the only part of her body that could function, and came to life, forcing her entire body into action.

She dashed forward, and checked his pulse and his breathing. Relief, although why, she was not sure, swept over her to find his heartbeat strong and that he was breathing regularly. After a few moments surveillance of his wounds, she noted the one on his leg the most serious. Ripping a strip of cloth from his black cloak, she applied pressure, hoping to stop the bleeding. After calling out to him, hoping that he would wake up, she looked around. There should have been someone coming to help – half the street had been blown apart! Yet, no one in the neighborhood seemed to have heard it! This was frightening to her, given that there were wizards involved. Whatever magic they'd used to find her, it could very well be disguising everything from the Muggles in the neighborhood.

Remembering his words before he'd collapsed, of the possibility of there being more people coming for them, she picked up her wand from where she'd dropped it next to his body, and after hesitating a few seconds, she Apparated them both away from the destroyed alley way.

* * *

Slow nights were a constant factor in such a small town. There would be long lulls in the workload in the ER during the night, allowing for a kind of peaceful silence to fall over the ward, which is one of the reasons most of the doctors and nurses stayed at the small hospital, instead of moving to a larger town where there was a lot more action to be seen. But any semblance of silence and peace was shattered that night when the popular young doctor burst in through the doors, dragging an unconscious, bleeding man with her.

"Carla, I need a stretcher!" Jenny Peters called out, and there was a collective gasp as everyone in the ER took in the sight, before they jumped into action, and began to assist her. An orderly appeared with the needed stretcher, and the attending physician took charge, calling out orders as they lifted the injured man onto the stretcher and began to wheel them away. Carla prevented her from following behind them; holding back the younger woman to see if she was hurt.

"No, I'm fine, Carla. He's the one to worry about," she waved away her concern, but one look from the older woman had her following docilely as the nurse led her to an exam room.

"Jenny, you're drenched and covered in blood! And there's a scrape on your head. At least let me get one of the interns to clean it up, so that you can hit the showers and change into some drier clothes," the veteran nurse insisted. Feeling overwhelmed by the events of the past hour, she just nodded weakly.

"What on earth has happened, Jen?" Monica Calhoun demanded as she burst through the curtain. "Someone just told me you dragged in some half dead man, and that you're hurt!"

"I don't know what happened," she answered numbly, as the other doctor examined the scrape on her forehead. She wasn't even aware that she'd been hurt during the battle. The look in her friend's eyes showed that she obviously was not going to let that be the end of it. "I came across him in the alley on my way home…there were other men…they're dead."

"Have you called the police?" Carla asked.

"I didn't have a chance. He was still alive, there was no phone around…I needed to get him some help. He saved my life," she said, grimacing slightly as an antiseptic-soaked gauze was swept over her wound. A silence fell over the room as a bandage was unwrapped and applied to her forehead.

"Jen, you're soaked. Go shower and change. Carla, call the police, they'll undoubtedly want to question her," Monica said authoritatively. Ginny sighed gratefully, as she was granted a few moments reprieve from the questions, and the opportunity to gather her thoughts.

_Find your husband before they find you_, his words echoed in her mind. He was still alive. She had known it all along, but it was almost too much to hope. He was still alive.

And now there was something she could do, other than just sit at home and wait for her man to come back. She was going to find him.

* * *

"Monica, I thought you were off hours ago! I should have taken that ride you offered me," Ginny said, with a sigh and a half-smile. She was dry and wearing a clean pair of hospital scrubs, and it felt as though her mind had been washed clean along with the rest of her. Monica had been leaving the hospital the same time she had this afternoon; she had offered her a ride home.

"Jim came down the flue a few hours into his shift, and I got suckered into covering in return for a full weekend off," she said with a laugh. "Your heroic John Doe is going to survive. Some stitches in his knee, a few cracked ribs, and a good case of extreme exhaustion, but nothing life threatening."

"Is he awake?"

"No, we gave him a sedative for the pain, and because he just plain needs it. Do you have any idea who he is?"

"No. I didn't get a good look at his face. If he's from around here, one of us should know him, the town isn't that big after all," she said, hoping to appear baffled. The town wasn't that big, but whoever that man was, he wasn't the type of person who would be found in a Muggle village too often.

"It's no wonder you couldn't make him out, his face is rather black and blue. Probably wouldn't recognize him if you did know him," Carla said, as she came out of the exam room holding a chart.

"Let me know if you recognize him," Monica said, as Ginny entered the room. She walked forward, towards the bed. She was inexplicably nervous as she approached. Her eyes scanned over the body lying there, trying to place the image with an identity from her memory. His skin was pale, but it looked weather worn and unnaturally aged. She had a feeling, given his performance during her rescue that he was still young, but had experienced a lot of that had made him older than he really was. His face was swollen and bruised, and there was a bandage on his forehead. His hair was a pale pale blond, and it struck a chord in her memory, as she tried to recall where she had seen it before.

His eyes opened, staring up at her as she looked down on him. They were red-rimmed with exhaustion, and she wondered why he was awake when Monica had given him a sedative. The eyes blinked, once, twice, as if he were trying to clear his vision.

"Where are we?" he groaned, his voice rough and shaky,

"You're in a hospital. You were hurt in the battle," she said quietly, as she looked behind her, to make sure that there was no one in the room with them. "Do you know who those men were?"

"Yes. We need to get out of here," he said, as he struggled to sit up. Ginny pushed him back down.

"That's not an option for you. You're far too hurt to just get up and walk out of here," she said, insistently.

"Then heal me," he said. She frowned.

"You told me not to use my wand, that they could find me that way," she said. He nodded.

"No matter what, they're coming. It's better that I'm ready for them," he said, his gray eyes glittering darkly. Ginny took a step away from him, something about the intensity of his gaze sending a cold shiver of fear down her spine. She recognized that look. It was one that she'd seen during one of the most frightening episodes of her life, when she'd been captured by Death Eaters as a lure to bring Harry into their grasp.

"Draco Malfoy," she whispered in horror. He flinched slightly as she spoke his name, and started to sit up again.

"There's time to deal with all that later, right now we have to make sure that they don't find us, here, surrounded by all these innocent Muggles. We need to get away," he said. Ginny reached down, pulling her wand out of her sock, pointing it straight at him.

"You're one of them," she said, spitting her words out in a cold fury. His eyes snapped up, and he was staring at her with a blazing intensity.

"Whatever else I may be, I am not that," he said, with such a force of cold fury behind them, that she took another step away from him.

"But you were," she said, accusingly. He nodded solemnly.

"There isn't time for this. They're going to be here soon," he said, his voice raspy.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, blinking under the intensity of his gaze. Any answer he would have given was interrupted as Monica came through the door. Quick as a flash, Ginny had her wand tucked back into her sock and hidden from sight.

"You should be sleeping!" Monica exclaimed, clearly surprised to see him awake and struggling to sit up. "Jenny, I think we should leave your hero here to get some sleep."

"Just a few minutes, Monica, and I'll be on my way out," she said, with a smile to her friend. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise before darkening dangerously as he eyed Monica. Ginny frowned, worrying about what was going through his mind.

"Sure, Jen. I'll send Carla in with a stronger sedative for our hero in a few minutes. The first one wasn't strong enough, it would seem," Monica said, with a smile in Malfoy's direction before she exited the room. Ginny watched her walk out and down the hall, watching until she disappeared. She turned back around, and nearly screamed when he was standing right in front of her.

"We need to leave. Now," he said, his voice low and insistent.

"I am not going anywhere with you, Malfoy," Ginny shot back, ducking out of the space he'd backed her into. He caught her arm, holding her in place.

"That doctor…her name is Monica Calhoun. She started here about a week after you did, transferred in from another hospital," he said, and she felt a bolt of fear spike through her stomach.

"How did you know that?" she demanded fiercely.

"She's not a Muggle doctor. She's been watching you the whole time, waiting for some kind of information to let them know where your husband is. We have to go, now!" he said, with a sudden intensity that added to her fright.

"You can't just stand there, and make these terrible accusations about the only friend that I trust in this sodding town, when you are who you are! I have no idea that this whole 'saving my life' thing isn't just some big production so that I'll trust you! Why should I trust you over here?" she demanded, jabbing her wand forward threateningly.

"As far as I can see it, you have two choices. You can either trust me and live, or you don't, and you'll die. I leave it to you, but considering you're not just thinking for one at the moment, I would think rather quickly and thoroughly, but I am leaving this hospital in a minute – with or without you," he said, his eyebrows drawn fiercely together.

Instinctually, her free hand moved to rest against her abdomen as she gazed into the cold and guarded pair of eyes staring at her. If he had wanted her dead…and he was hardly in any condition to harm her, given that he was injured and wandless…

"If you betray me in any way, so help me Malfoy, I will kill you with my bare hands if I have to," she hissed as viciously as she could manage, with her lower lip trembling and a slight burning sensation behind her eyes.

He nodded his head once, as if in solemn agreement to her terms, and then moved, painfully, to get dressed.

* * *

Carla entered the hospital room, carrying the medication that Dr. Calhoun had ordered for the mysterious patient that Jenny Peters had dragged in that night. The rumors were flying around the hospital, about how she'd been attacked and this mysterious stranger had saved her life, and that there were a number of dead bodies still lying in the street.

She stopped dead in her tracks, startled to find the room completely empty, and looking as if there had been no one there. She looked around, in shocked bafflement, before turning on her heel to run back to the nurses' station and find out if anyone had seen him leave.

Carla nearly ran into Dr. Calhoun, who has surrounded by a pack of intimidating men, all dressed in black, who were storming down the corridor.

"Carla, have you administered that sedative yet?" she asked briskly. The elderly nurse wondered over the sudden change in the young doctor, whose tone was never brisk or curt, nor was there ever a look of such…sinister expectation in her eyes before.

"Monica, have you released the John Doe?" she asked, trying not to sound as panic as she felt.

"Of course not. Why, Carla?" she asked, her eyes narrowing, making her usually kind face twist into something…frightening.

"Is there a problem with the suspect?" one of the men demanded.

"There's no one in the room," Carla explained. A flash of absolute rage swept over Monica's face, before she replaced it with an obviously fake smile.

"Did you give him the injection, Carla?" she demanded. The nurse shook her head, holding out the needle. The young doctor, in a fit of anger, dashed it out of her hands, and it crashed to the ground, sending shards of glass everywhere.

"What about Potter?" another of the men demanded, his tone soft and deadly dangerous. "The girl who came in with him, is she still around?"

"You mean Jenny Peters? I haven't seen her either," Carla said, concerned gripping her as she thought of the vibrant young doctor who had been such an addition to their ward. She watched as the men glanced at each other significantly, before one of them raised what looked to be a polished and rounded length of wood in her direction.

She took a step away from them, shooting Monica a pleading and frightened look, before the man said something she didn't understand, and a flash of light blinded her vision before darkness swept over her.

* * *

So, it's really different from The Visible Invisible. Let me know what you think!


	5. Hidden Messages and Suppositions

Happy New Year! Here's another installment, where yet again, if you are confused, that is a good thing because you're supposed to be…it's part of my evil plot! (and again, what was supposed to be a cut-and-dried, normal-sized story is growing longer and longer by the paragraph, with more plot than I originally intended…)

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5: Hidden Messages and Suppositions**

"Ronald Weasley, you had better have a very good reason for being two hours late, tonight of all nights!" a sharp voice greeted him as he stepped from the hearth of the fireplace. He blinked for a moment, clearing the soot from his eyes as he shook off the slightly dizzying feeling left over Flue travel. He looked around, and smiled weakly at his family, gathered in the living room of the Burrow, all staring at him with identical accusing looks in their eyes.

"Terribly sorry, Mum, but something came up at the office which kept me a little later than I thought it would," he said, forcing his tone to remain bright as he searched the room for a familiar pair of eyes.

"And you should be sorry, Ron! Your own wedding anniversary party and you're late! Your poor wife was left sitting here, playing host to all your friends for two hours before they all were off, needing to be somewhere else! Of all the inconsiderate things to do, Ronald, this certainly tops the list!" his mother continued. Ron looked away from the red-faced woman who continued with his lecture, and spotted his wife at the far corner of the room, coldly staring at him in complete silence. He sighed deeply as he looked away from her.

"Ronald, your responsibilities to your family are far more important than your job, and the sooner you realize that, the better! Poor Hermione has been working on this party all week, and you just show up late with some feeble excuse about work!" his mother continued his lecture. At the mention of her name, Hermione stepped forward, and Ron prepared for her voice to join in the lecture. He glanced back up at her as she opened her mouth, preparing to speak.

There must have been something in his eyes that warned her that something was wrong, because the lecture never came.

"Ron, what's happened?" she asked, rushing forward and taking his hands. He sighed again, shakily, before he sat down on the ground.

"I've had some news today from Auror intelligence," he said. The Weasley family gasped, and all leaned forward to hear the news.

"There was an attack in a Muggle village. Five wizards were found dead. They're not really sure what the target was, why they were there or who killed them. But Blaise Zabini was one of them, and it looks as though he wasn't killed by magic," he said heavily.

"What can that mean?" Hermione asked, her quick mind already working through the possible implications.

"Zabini was the Ministry official in charge of the missing persons case, the one who has been searching for Harry and Ginny since they disappeared," Arthur Weasley said gravely.

"And he was killed? Does that mean he found them?" Molly asked, her eyes shining with a desperate hope.

"There's more, Mum," Ron said, silencing the murmur of speculation that rippled among his brothers and their wives. He glanced up at Hermione, who was now sitting beside him, still clutching his hand. "The Aurors talked to the locals, trying to figure out what happened. The story that they came back with is that a local Muggle, who is a doctor at the hospital there, was the person attacked. She was rescued by a stranger, who was already hurt before the battle began. Both of them were brought to the hospital. She was fine, but the stranger wasn't. Before the doctors or the authorities could find out anything else, the two of them disappeared."

"Why would Zabini and his men attack a Muggle?" George asked.

"That's the part that has been baffling everyone since word of what happened reached the Ministry. They thought that perhaps she wasn't really a Muggle, but a witch pretending to live as a Muggle. They searched the woman's house, and found nothing magical in it. But then they searched her locker at the hospital, and found a letter that has all of us wondering," Ron said, his voice cracking slightly as he reached into his pocket and removed a folded piece of parchment.

"What does it say, Ron?" Hermione asked, her voice full of fear.

"We regret to inform you that your husband has been reported missing, and is presumed dead after failing to return from a mission of a top secret nature for the Ministry of Magic. We offer our condolences, and a promise to inform you of any further information in this matter," Ron read.

"Who was it addressed to?" Molly asked, her voice wavering.

"Mrs. Ginny Potter," Ron said. A collective gasp swept over the room.

"The Ministry has known all along where they've been?" shouted Fred in outrage.

"Harry can't possibly be dead! It only said that he was _presumed dead_!" Bill stated, comforting his mother that had begun to sob.

"Oh, poor Ginny, getting a message like that when she's all alone in a strange Muggle place," George's wife said.

"I think you're all missing the point," Hermione said, her crisp voice cutting through all the comments and forcing the room into silence again.

"Hermione is right. I think that this means that Harry and Ginny were never 'missing' but that they disappeared, purposely. Especially after that last attack, you all know that they blamed themselves for Charlie's injuries. I think they disappeared because they thought it would keep us all safe," Ron said.

"But then how did the Ministry know where they were, and what has happened to Harry?" Molly demanded.

"I'm not sure. But I don't think Harry's the one we need to be worrying about. They said that the doctor, who has been going by the name Jenny Peters, was the one that was attacked, and that she is now missing completely. And from the description of the stranger who helped save her – the one we think killed Zabini and his men – fits only one Dark wizard that we have on file…Draco Malfoy," Ron said.

"Oh my…he was part of the group that grabbed her in our seventh year, to get Harry to go after them…He was the one that gave her over to Voldemort," Hermione cried, clutching his hand.

"And now he has her again, and with Harry missing…we can only assume that it's to lure him out of where he is hiding again. I mean, they've been hiding from us for over a year – presumably to keep us save – so that means that Harry might be…well, hiding from Ginny, especially if he knows that she might be in danger because of him, again."

"And Zabini's team must have gotten some kind of clue as to where she was, and happened upon her just as Malfoy was trying to grab her! Malfoy must have killed the men, but since Ginny was still alive, they must have thought that he was trying to help her, which can explain why he got away. They probably weren't guarding him at all, not knowing that he was a dangerous person," Hermione added.

"And now he has our Ginny, and anyone who tries to go after them will be falling into a trap! We have to find a way to warn Harry, wherever he is," Arthur said. Ron glanced at Hermione, who was already standing up, grim determination in her eyes.

"There's only one place he would be, if he wasn't with Ginny," she said with a knowing look in Ron's direction.

* * *

"Easy there, Malfoy. Your stitches won't hold if you're not careful, and I don't have anything with me to stop the bleeding if you do tear them," Ginny cautioned, struggling to keep up with the man limping in front of her. Considering his injuries, he shouldn't have been able to walk, let alone out-pace her.

"We have to keep moving. I don't think we've got much of a head start on them," he muttered, gasping. Looking around the empty street of the small village where Ginny had felt so safe and, and despite her constant worry for her husband, happy, she suppressed a shudder, knowing that she was no longer safe here. The quiet streets could be hiding any number of would-be assassins, Dark wizards who had discovered her hiding place and her truth behind her pseudonym.

Harry had told her that this was the best chance they would have to finally break free from the aftermath of the war. The losing side had not been completely destroyed; there were still many followers of Voldemort left alive and eager for revenge. Too many times, they had come too close to succeeding, and the consequences of that last attack on their home had forced them to abandon their wizarding lives. Harry had taken her to this small village, had been able to forge documents creating their new identities, and together they tried to start a new life, away from the danger and sorrow that had followed them wherever they went in the wizarding world.

And it had worked for a while. For a year, they had made nice, quiet lives for themselves. Ginny had started working at the hospital, with the help of Harry's forged documents, and had adapted rather well to the practice of Muggle medicine. It had all been a part of her training, anyway, but it had taken a lot of effort to resist the urge to pull out her wand whenever a seriously injured patient was brought before her. She had to adjust to the limitations of Muggle medicine, and the helplessness that accompanied it on occasions where there was nothing that their technology could do to save a life. At the end of her shift, she'd wearily walk the quiet streets of this little town to their tiny little cottage, where Harry was waiting for her, making the entire situation bearable.

But then he'd received that owl. No one in the wizarding world had known where they had gone, not even the Weasley family had been told. They'd not even told anyone of their plans to disappear, a fact that had caused them both many nights of lost sleep, worrying for their family. The owl had been a summons from the Ministry, saying that their location had been found by a team of Aurors through the traces of unregistered wand being used in a Muggle hospital, and that Harry was needed for a special assignment.

Harry and Ginny had had their first row that night. Harry was furious with her for using her magic, knowing full well that it was the best way for anyone to find them. After all they had given up to be safe, he'd yelled, she had given it all away because she couldn't control her need to use magic. She'd fired back, startled by the first time he'd ever raised his voice to her, that she was not one to simply stand by and let someone die when she had the power to save them. She'd taken an oath when she became a Healer to help anyone, regardless of who they are, to the extent of her powers. And that included magic, despite what danger it might bring to her personally. If it could save a life, then she would use her wand and that was just the way it was going to be.

Still angry with her, he'd packed a bag and set off for London, telling her that he would answer the Ministry's summons and see what they needed from him. While he was there, he would try to find a way to disable their wand-tracking spells, so that when they 'disappeared' again, they wouldn't be able to find them even if Ginny used her wand. He barely said goodbye, and had left her alone, for two months without any word from him at all. Except that notice from the Ministry that he might be dead.

"Here, this way," Malfoy called, his voice ragged with exhaustion. Ginny knew that he would pass out again, soon, if he didn't get a chance to rest. She was about to mention it, when he pulled her roughly towards a wall. She braced herself for the impact, expecting her shoulder to crash against the bricks with quite a bit of force, but she was surprised when she found herself out of the street, and in a dimly lit room. She glanced around, and saw that it was sparsely furnished – a few chairs, a bed, and a table seemed to be all that was there. There was, however, a fireplace where a small fire was burning, providing the dim light in the room.

A second later Malfoy appeared, stepping through the wall. Ginny assumed that it had the same type of spell that the entrance to platform 9 ¾ had at Kings Cross, a clever disguise from Muggles.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Ministry safe house. We'll stay here for awhile, until we can be sure that they've left the town, presumably to search for you. They'll assume that we've gone either to the Ministry in London, or to Hogwarts and Dumbledore, so that's where they'll head right away, giving us some time to collect a game plan," he said haggardly as he roughly collapsed into a chair against the wall.

"Ministry safe house? You, working for the Ministry?" she asked incredulously. He glared at her, and she decided to drop the subject. "What about Harry? You said we were going to find him! Do you know where he is?"

"I do," he said. He stood up, limping slowly towards the fire, before he reached down and picked up one of the pieces of wood lying nearby, throwing into the flames. Ginny sighed for a moment, reveling in the heat after her ordeal out in the rain. She was about to fire out another of the questions plaguing her brain, but before she could, Malfoy slumped against the wall, as if for support. Before she could get to him, he fell to the ground.

* * *

**A/N:** Again, if you're confused, that's a good thing, it means I'm doing my job properly.

During vacation, I spent a lot of time re-reading Chamber of Secrets, and I came up with a wildly ridiculous idea as to the identity of the HBP, and a few other observations. You can check that out on my LJ (wwwdotlivejournaldotcome/emeraleyes)


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